


by the book

by verity



Series: tween wolf [21]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, Magic, Potions, Romance Novel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, yeah, Deaton gave me a romance novel about werewolves," Stiles says, later, cradling his cellphone between shoulder and ear. "<i>Deaton</i> gave me a <i>romance novel</i> about <i>werewolves</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	by the book

**Author's Note:**

  * For [billtheradish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billtheradish/gifts).



> thanks to Ashe for proofing this and being my TWEEN WOLF MUSE. <3

The driving lesson with Erica uses up almost all of Stiles's clear sight ointment, so he makes a fresh batch when he gets home. He pours a teaspoon of the bay-and-lavender-infused EVOO from the jar in his closet into a clean tupperware container, tosses in some frankincense and powdered cinnamon, grates some mastic resin on top and stirs with his finger for a few minutes until he starts feeling tight and tingly in his chest. Then he dumps in some store-brand petroleum jelly and stirs until everything's more or less the same consistency. Voila.

This is not how exactly Deaton taught Stiles to how to make clear sight ointment, but none of the stuff Deaton tries to teach him ever works the way it's supposed to. Grandma says that magic doesn't work if you treat it like chemistry, but Deaton does everything by the book, literally: he has a locked cabinet in his office that Stiles is not allowed to browse that's full of musty grimoires, charred lab notebooks, and other things that make Stiles reflexively sneeze on sight. Sometimes Deaton doles them out like they're onerous burdens instead of information candy, and he rarely allows Stiles to take them home.

Stiles has Mom's notes at home. Maybe in ten years he'll not-suck enough that they'll start to make sense.

Until then, he improvises. Stiles is _30 Minute Meals_ to Deaton's _French Chef_ , and he might not be burning any candles under the waxing moon, but his magical pasta is perfectly _al dente_. Enough that Deaton's letting him him trade Potions 101 for Low John and library privileges.

Stiles spoons some of the clear sight ointment into a smaller plastic container and sticks it in his backpack.

—

Scott's just on his way out when Stiles gets to Deaton's clinic, flipping the sign on the door from open to closed. "You smell like a spice rack, dude," he says, wrinkling his nose.

Stiles shrugs and gives a pointed nod toward the back. "Want a ride home when I'm done?"

"Sure," Scott says. "Keys? I'll get my bike."

When Stiles presses his keychain into Scott's hand, he can feel the thread between them draw up, warm and familiar. "This won't take too long," he says.

Deaton's sitting at his desk, scrolling through something on his iPad. Legit vet stuff, probably: Deaton has this weird fixation on keeping the supernatural to actual paper. "Stiles," he says without looking up. "I was expecting you earlier."

"Places to go, people to see." Stiles drops the container of ointment on the desk; it wobbles a little on the convex bottom that it's developed from too many cycles on the lower rack in the dishwasher. "Do you need anything else? Because I think I'm going to skip the thing today where I ask to drink from the fountain of knowledge and you suggest I hit up Costco for a case of Gatorade."

"It's hardly that simple, Stiles," Deaton says in that aggravatingly placid tone of his. "You're unsuited for some of those texts, and others might cause you deliberate harm. Magic is not good or evil in essence—"

"—blah blah blah, 'use and intent of the practitioner,' blah blah blah, I think I've got that by now." Stiles tries to suppress an eyeroll. Arguments with Deaton never go anywhere helpful: they usually end up with Stiles eating an entire pint of Phish Food by himself and thinking about how everything he's learned in the past five years boils down to needlepoint, a second language, and improvisation in the magical kitchen. Sometimes even comparing himself to Rachel Ray can't keep Stiles from thinking that he's just one step up from cooking under a 100W bulb in an Easy-Bake oven.

Deaton pauses. "Very well. All I wanted to say, Stiles, is that I do have a book for you. I suggest that you study it with care and caution."

That doesn't go far to lift Stiles's hopes. If Deaton volunteers anything of his own free will, he's got some agenda, like getting Stiles to supply him with clear sight ointment for life. "Uh huh," Stiles says. He holds out his hand and waits.

The book is a slim paperback with cheap, yellowed pages and a broken spine. It looks like one of those romance novels Scott's mom loves too much to get rid of and Stiles totally hasn't had any sexual awakenings to, not at all. "Traditionally, we have kept ourselves separate from the community," Deaton says. "Shamans, priests, workers—we are set apart. Derek's mother and I were friends, but I was not part of their pack—of any pack, as you are. There are things you have to learn, Stiles, if you choose to walk this path."

"They're my friends," Stiles says, fingers tightening on the book. "There's not—there's no _choosing_."

Deaton gives him a benign smile.

—

"So, yeah, Deaton gave me a romance novel about werewolves," Stiles says, later, cradling his cellphone between shoulder and ear. "Deaton gave me a _romance novel_ about _werewolves_."

"That does sound freaky," Scott agrees. "Oh, shit, what is with this boss? How did you get through this level?"

Stiles sighs. "You're not _listening_ , Scott, I think this is—what we've been looking for."

There's a shrill, onerous whine that means that Scott is totally down a life. "It's a romance novel?" he says, dubious.

"As I just said, yes," Stiles says. "You're the soulful viscount with gold eyes and a ponytail who writes poems and Laura's the alpha duke with a six-pack that the heroine glimpses after he falls into a pond. It's a Regency."

"I don't know what that means," Scott says.

"Ask your mom," Stiles says. "Prepare to get schooled. Because we are ready to rock and roll, dude."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> Deaton and Stiles's mom both come from distinct magical traditions that I have drawn upon for telling tween wolf. When we hit the end of season two, I'll write up some meta with citations and talk a little about where I got all of this stuff from, because while much of the implementation is mine, the bulk of the magic systems here are absolutely not.
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO there is now some of this romance novel [up as an extra on tumblr](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com/post/49156975763/tween-wolf-bonus-waltzing-with-wolves-werewolf).


End file.
